Strange Stars
by FlyAloft
Summary: Post RotK. Arwen has gone missing and a stranger arrives in Minas Tirith. Rated M for later chapters. Please R&R it's my first!
1. Chapter 1

"My lord!" The soldier strode through the hall to where Aragorn paced restlessly beside a table filled with sheets of parchment. The king whirled and moved forward to meet the man, eyes searching the newcomer's face for any sign, any indication that a respite from this nightmare would be forthcoming. There was none. He lowered his eyes and went still.

"Nothing?" he asked softly.

"I am sorry, my lord. We've not been able to find anything more than what you already know."

"No trace of her? Of who is responsible?" he asked desperately, resuming his nervous pacing around the table.

"I'm afraid not, my lord. We have searched as thoroughly as possibly. The tracks are difficult to read- we think they may have fled across the river into Ithilien, but none of the Lord Faramir's patrols have discovered anything." The man paused, ill at ease and searching for some scrap of hope to offer. Aragorn continued to pace, lost in his own thoughts. Then, halting abruptly, he looked at the man as though seeing him for the first time, and taking in the soldier's soaked clothing, dripping hair and worn features he said gently, "You have ridden far this day- go and take your ease. Will you require anything?" Relief washed over the man's face.

"Only the chance to see my wife and daughter this night, my lord," he said, bowing deeply. Pain flashed quickly across the king's face as he replied, "It is done. Go and spend the night with your family. Report to me in the morning and I will give you instructions to bring to your commander." The man bowed again and left, some of the weariness leaving his step at the prospect of seeing his beloved family. Aragorn watched him go, feeling, if it were possible, even more agonized than before.

_ Arwen, my love, what has happened to you? Who has taken you from me?_

Sabir squirmed uncomfortably as the rain found its way down the neck of his tunic. Even the hood and cloak he wore were no match for the downpour, whipped about by the wind and driven into any and every opening between clothing and skin. The storm seemed to be increasing even more as the evening wore on and slowly became night. He dashed water from his eyes and continued to stare outward from the inadequate shelter of the sentry's tower, down the road that led from the city gate. He could not see the road now, of course, through the driving rain and darkness, but occasional flashes of lightning showed enough to assure him that it was empty. It was near time to close the gates anyway.

Another flash rent the gloom and in the sudden shock of light he could see, quite clearly, a rider slowly approaching. He took the signal torch from its bracket and waved it twice under the sheltering awning. It hissed and sputtered as the rain hit it. An answering wave from below informed him that the gatekeepers had got the message- the rider would be the last person let in tonight.

From his perch, Sabir watched the rider come through the gateway into the street. The horse was moving slowly, head down as though very weary and the rider, oddly, stretched out over the full length of the animal's back, huddled in a cloak. He watched the unusual pair move haltingly up the street towards the second level gate. Strange. He'd thought all the errand-riders and scouts had returned already.

Shaking his head and reminding himself that he could hardly hope to know everything that went on in the city, Sabir returned to his watch and hoped that for once, his relief would come early.

Aragorn had fled to his study in an attempt to remain alone with his thoughts for the rest of the evening. He sat now in the darkened room gazing out into the stormy night and trying to block the thoughts of Arwen being out in _that_.

He was a fool. He should never have allowed her to go out with such a small escort. He himself should have gone with her. Now she was dead, or captured, or wounded.

Images of her lying bleeding and sick under a tree somewhere while the rain came down in sheets raced through his mind, and were mercifully interrupted by a quiet rap on the door.

"Come," he called without moving. The door opened and one of the young servants entered.

"King Elessar, sir, there's a rider down in the hall, just come in all dripping wet and everything. He says it's about Queen Arwen, sir." The boy jumped as Aragorn leaped from his seat and bounded from the room.

"Thank you. That is all," the king said in passing to the startled youngster.

Entering the hall, Aragorn found a slight figure in a sodden, mudcoated cloak waiting for him. The hood was still drawn over the man's face and small tremors ran through his frame as though he was shivering despite the warmth of the fire that burned on the hearth nearby.

"What news? No, leave off with the formalities and tell me what it is!" he demanded anxiously as the figure clumsily attempted to bow. A terrified voice, high pitched and shaking, issued from the depths of the soaking hood.

"I- I- My lord, I have news of your lady, sire."

"Yes? Yes? What is it?" Aragorn asked, fighting an irrational urge to grab the man and shake it out of him. He caught himself in time and as the figure hesitated again, he said, "Come, you must be very weary and cold. Remove your hood and sit by the fire. Perhaps it will dry you out a bit." The man hesitated again and shrank back.

"Come. I promise you I do not bite…much," Aragorn coaxed and slowly the rider moved to sit gingerly on the edge of a chair beside the fire, drawing off his hood as he did so. Aragorn found himself faced with a youth of certainly no more that fifteen summers with dark hair flattened almost completely to his skull by the rain, which had apparently soaked all the way through his hood. A pair of strangely bright eyes in an unusual swirl of blue and green stared at him from a very pale face.

"That's better. Now, tell me what news you bring," Aragorn said as he seated himself in the chair beside the lad

"I- Your lady, sire, she is going to be kidnapped. I do not know where or when or how, but I can promise that it will happen. Please, my lord, be careful." Aragorn felt himself slump.

"Where have you come from, lad?" he asked through the disappointment that threatened to overwhelm him. He had dared for a few moments to hope that perhaps they had found her, found _something_ at last.

"I- S- South, my lord. A bit- A bit south of here," came the frightened reply. Aragorn considered this.

"I ask because the Lady Arwen has gone missing- five days ago," he said, watching the youth through keen eyes. The boy started and then sank back.

"So I come too late," he mumbled softly, as though he were alone. "Now what must I do?" Watching him, Aragorn felt a stab of pity pierce the cloud of disappointment and grief that surrounded him.

"Do you have a place to stay? You look in need of some good food and a bed." The boy darted a terrified look at him, growing even paler than before. His lips were pinched tightly together and his hands gripped the arms of the chair, the knuckles white.

"My lord….I must go!" he cried suddenly, and leapt from the chair as if to flee from the hall. He had not gotten two steps, however, when he let out a cry and crumpled to the floor. Aragorn leaped forward and barely caught him, keeping his head from striking the stone floor. The boy had fainted, whether from fear or exhaustion, Aragorn was unsure, but he gathered the soaking figure into his arms and set off for a room in which to place his guest.

"Fetch some food to the guest wing," he ordered a servant standing at the door. The woman nodded and turned in the direction of the kitchens.

Entering the guest suites, he laid the young man down and began to remove the cloak. The woman returned with a tray of food and, unbidden, began to light a fire. Aragorn continued to tend the boy, unbuckling a belt about his waist and pulling off his muddied boots. He realized, suddenly, that the stains on the stranger's worn pants were not all from travel- most of them were something else. Something reddish-black. _Blood_, he realized. He turned to the woman again.

"Bring me _athelas_, some hot water, and clean cloths and bandages." The woman left, and Aragorn continued to remove the boy's clothing, in hopes that he would warm up enough to halt the tremors that wracked his frame.

He looked over the boy's pants, searching for a rip or tear that would indicate the kind of wound that was surely responsible for the amount of blood he could see stained into the wet fabric. Seeing nothing, he concluded the injury was likely high on the boy's thigh, or around his waist. He carefully peeled away the clothing and gasped.

Blood seeped through a hastily wrapped bandage between the boy's legs, staining the blanket under him- and by the looks of it, it came from a severe injury. But something was wrong. Suddenly unsure of himself, Aragorn moved to remove the boy's tunic and gasped again. There was no mistaking it now.

The figure on the bed was a girl.


	2. Chapter 2

_A.N.- I forgot to put a disclaimer on the previous chapter. Simply put, if you recognize it, it ain't mine! It belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien, and I thank him for the use of his people and places. Please don't sue me...you wouldn't get much anyway. Tuition was just due._

_Thanks to Sarah and Frodo Freak2- I got this one out faster than I thought I would especially for you guys- hope you like it! It's a bit grim in parts..._

_Nobody's read this but me, so I take full responsibility for all mistakes. Questions, comments, concerns and screaming fits are welcome- but please try to make them constructive. Unconstructive reviews will be eaten with M&Ms for breakfast. :-)_

A girl. A girl with hair cropped short, dressed in boy's clothing, but by her chest and the curves of her hips, definitely a woman. There were other bruises, old ones, faded to a yellowish-green across her body. She had been badly beaten…and raped, too, by the looks of it.

He hurriedly covered her with a blanket and strode out of the room, intent on finding a healer….a woman healer, preferably. He collided with the servant in the doorway.

"I have what you requested, sire."

"Thank you," he replied. "Put them on the table in there, and please wait with our visitor. I must find a healer." He left her looking startled in the doorway, no doubt wondering why he did not do the job himself. Pausing only to find a cloak, he headed out into the storm, moving in the direction of the Houses of Healing.

* * *

Several hours later, Aragorn paced nervously outside the door. The woman- a middle-aged senior healer named Kalinah- had immediately banished him to the hallway, king or not. He hadn't argued, realizing it would be futile, and so now he was alone with his thoughts.

Who had attacked her? And where? Here, in the city? Or on her journey from home? Where was she from? At once, unbidden, his mind remembered her words to him.

_Your lady, sire, she is going to be kidnapped_. So she had known. Somehow. Which meant that likely, she knew who had done it in the first place. Was she somehow involved?

The door opened, interrupting his thoughts and his stride, and Kalinah emerged, looking strained.

"She is sleeping now- I've stitched and cleaned her up as best I could. She seems young and strong, but she has lost a great deal of blood. And…some of her injuries will likely be permanent." Aragorn felt himself grow cold.

"What do you mean?" he asked, hesitantly, not sure he really wanted to know. The healer sighed.

"She was badly beaten- a few weeks ago, I would guess. She's exhausted, and she…" The woman paused, as if searching for words. Then facing Aragorn and staring into his eyes, she said, "She has also been raped. Several times, from what I can tell, by men. And once by a knife. I am sure she has internal injuries, and I doubt that she will ever be able to bear children." Aragorn gasped. Who would do such a thing? Kalinah, a stoic woman from what he could tell, looked deeply upset. "She will need someone to look after her, and to be here when she wakes."

"I will take care of her," Aragorn said. If she really had traveled a long way to come here, his was likely the only face she knew. Perhaps she wouldn't be as frightened of him… Kalinah nodded and prepared to leave. "Keep her warm, and try not to let her move too much. Send for me if anything changes in her condition." She strode away down the hall and he re-entered the room and settled himself into a chair beside the bed.

She lay covered in a thick blanket, and the only sign that she lived was the slow movement of the fabric over her upper body. Looking at her more closely for the first time, Aragorn saw that she was quite pretty. Her hair, slowly drying, was unevenly shorn, as though she had done it herself, but an attractive shade of brown tinted with coppery-red. Her skin, though pale from weariness and injury, was likely a golden-brown color, as though she had spent a great deal of time in the sun. Her bone structure looked delicate. She couldn't have been more than 22 or 23 summers old. She certainly was not from Gondor- her skin was too dark and her hair was that unusual color.

_South, she said_, he recalled. Perhaps Harad, though she looked to be too pale to be native to the desert lands. Now, there was a thought. If she had traveled all the way from Harad, then perhaps someone there had taken Arwen. The Southrons had been suspiciously quiet the last few weeks…could they have done it?

He continued to think on it until at last, exhausted by the strain of the past few days, he slid into a dreamless sleep.

Aragorn awoke with a start and was on his feet instantly. Long years of wariness had ingrained an alertness into him, and though he no longer needed it, it still persisted.

The girl still slept in the bed, and the early morning sunlight streamed through a window at the far end of the chamber. The embers of last night's fire glowed faintly in the fireplace, no longer needed either for light or for warmth. He went to the window and opened it. The air flowed in, fresh and cool as it always was after rain. He stood gazing out for a long moment, over the city and the plain far below, and then realized that he was hungry. Turning, he crossed the room, opened the door and requested breakfast from the servant standing outside- fruit and bread, and some juice. As he re-entered, he felt someone's eyes on him, and looking toward the bed he confirmed that the girl was awake.

She was staring at him with blue-green eyes that were wide, though that seemed to be the only indication of her fear. Aragorn felt a small amount of respect for her- she was obviously in great pain and quite helpless, yet she locked eyes with him in a defiant kind of way, as though informing him that she was not so weak as she appeared. He approached the bed and smiled at her.

"So, you are awake! I summoned a healer for you last night after you fainted. She has told me you are very injured. How do you feel?"

"Hurt….hungry…." she said softly, shrinking away from him.

"I'll not hurt you. Be easy- you have lost a lot of blood. I've sent for some food."

"Where am I?"

"In the palace of the king, in the city of Minas Tirith. You arrived here last night, saying you had news of the queen. Do you remember?" he asked gently. She closed her eyes briefly and nodded.

"Yes. You told me she is already missing- I am too late. How long since they took her?" She was watching him steadily now. He felt a fresh burst of pain at the thought of his wife.

"Five days. Do you know…?" he trailed off as she nodded again and lay back against the pillows, her eyes glazing over with exhaustion.

"I….know. It will take….time…to explain…fully…so tired…my…lord…" Her eyelids drooped and Aragorn knew he would get nothing more from her now.

"Aragorn. Call me Aragorn," he said softly. "Sleep in peace. You are safe here." Here eyes opened briefly and the closed again.

"Polara…" she whispered, and then slept again.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: It's not mine. It never has been. It never will be. If I had a dollar for every time I wished it was, though, I wouldn't need to work... Oh, except Polara. She's very definitely mine.

_A/N: I feel bad even offering an apology for the delay on this, but the only excuse I have is that of real life... I'm not entirely thrilled with this chapter, but the more I fiddle with it, the more it DOESN'T seem to get any better. So I'm going to post it anyway, and try to make the next one a bit better... Please let me know what you think! Also, I have no beta reader. So if you find mistakes, they're mine...sorry._

As the day wore on, Aragorn found himself struggling to squash his impatience. He'd had many long years to learn control over that sort of thing, but all that effort seemed to have been for naught, as he found himself once more pacing his study. _Who is she,_ he wondered for what was surely the thousandth time. _What does she know?_ He sighed and forced his attention back to the paperwork that lay strewn in great heaps over his desk. It wasn't going to do itself, no matter how hard he wished. And wishing wouldn't hurry the girl- _Polara?_- in her recovery, either. He ordered his mind to concentrate, and bending over the desk, got to work.

Polara opened her eyes very slowly. Everything hurt…but she'd been dealing with pain for many days now. The ceiling above was stone, instead of sky, and she lay in a bed, instead of on the ground. Where- oh, yes. Minas Tirith. The White City of Gondor! She was finally here! And alive… That brought the memories back, things she wanted- needed- to forget. And with the memories came the reason why she was here- _the queen!_ She needed to see the king, and quickly. If he had somehow found out where she was and decided to set out to find her…

She carefully sat up and began to remove the blankets from her body…and realized that she'd been bathed, bandaged, and was, more importantly, without clothing! She cast around and saw a dress draped over a nearby chair, along with some boots and a cloak. Her old clothes were nowhere to be seen. She grimaced as she attempted to get herself out of the bed, both from pain and from irritation at having to wear a dress. She'd promised herself she'd never wear one of them again, not after- no. Not thinking of that, she told herself sternly. She stiffly moved to the clothing and haltingly drew it on, painfully aware of the abuse her body had taken for a long time. The bruises were beginning to slowly heal, but her other injuries…well, it appeared they'd been cared for. She hoped they would heal in time.

In the meantime, she had more important things to worry about. Like how she was going to manage to find the king in a city she didn't know. Trying hard to conceal her pain, she moved carefully towards the door, only to have it open before she reached it. There in the doorway stood the object of her search.

Aragorn had finally given up and decided to check on his visitor. Opening the door to her room, he was shocked to find her out of bed, upright, clothed, and moving toward the door with a determined look on her face. There was silence for a moment.

"Hello, Polara," he said. "I'm relived to see you awake." _Though I doubt you are really strong enough to be out of bed yet_, he added mentally. She awkwardly and painfully bowed, then retreated across the room and sank onto a chair. He followed her and took his place in another chair a few feet away. She looked at him warily.

"My lord, I understand theQueenhas already gone missing…" she trailed off, seeing the anguish in his face.

"Yes…." His eyes left her face and focused on his hands, which lay in his lap and which, almost of their own accord, came up to rub across his face. He remained that way for a moment, bent over, head in his hands. Polara watched steadily until with an effort that seemed almost visible, he seemed to remember where he was and brought his eyes back up to meet hers.

"You know something." There was not the slightest hint of question in his voice. They were both aware of it. She looked away for a long moment, her eyes dropping to the floor and she was silent. Aragorn held his tongue, his earlier impatience gone. He sensed that it was something she would have to tell him on her own terms. At last she began to speak, and her voice was flat, emotionless.

"I am from Harad. The northern part, close to the border or Mordor. The Queen has been taken there, to a stronghold in the mountains. A man called Matshah keeps her there. I had thought to warn you before it happened, but it seems I am too late. Matshah and four other leaders of Harad have plotted this against you…to draw you out, perhaps trap you and kill you, and divide your kingdom. I do not know the full extent of their plans. But I can tell you where to find your lady. And I can also tell you that you must not go yourself." She raised her eyes to meet his, and repeated, as though for further emphasis, "You cannot go. You are their objective. They knew when they took her that you yourself would come after her, that her safety is not something you would delegate to another. And if you go yourself to rescue her, they will have you exactly where they want you."

Aragorn rose and began to pace the room. "You seem very certain of all of this. How am I to know you speak the truth? How do I know you are not part of some plot yourself?" He rounded on her suddenly, eyes blazing. "You tell me you know of Arwen's whereabouts, of the reasons behind her kidnapping, and yet you would ask me to do nothing? You have provided me no reason to trust you. Perhaps you have been sent to kill me? Perhaps you are part of this!" He was about to continue, but just then she raised her head and stopped him by the force of her gaze alone.

There was fury there, fury and pain. Deep, lingering pain, and the remnants of some past terror, for he could discern a hint of fear as well. She began to speak.

"I speak the truth. My reasons for coming here are my own, and I will ask you not to question me about them. My advice, however, comes from a desire to see this ended with as little bloodshed as possible, and certainly from the hope that if there must be blood spilled, that none of it is yours. I can advise you on where to find here, and I can also tell you, as many times as necessary, that you must allow someone else to deal with this. I will help in any way I can, no matter your decisions, but it is in the best interest of your kingdom for you to remain here. Safe." She continued to stare at him. He felt a kind of reluctant admiration for her tenacity…she had courage, that much was certainly obvious. He wondered at her reasons.

Polara suddenly felt weak and the room began to move. She cried out softly and swayed, struggling to force herself to remain on her feet. Strong hands caught her, and sat her carefully back in the chair, and when her vision cleared, she found Aragorn leaning over her, concern having replaced the earlier anger in his gaze. She attempted a smile, which was quelled when he began to sternly reprove her.

"You should not have been out of bed. You are still injured and likely still affected by your journey here. I am grateful for your advice, and for the news you bring, but you must rest. In bed. And you _will_ stay there this time, until I or the healers allow otherwise. Is that understood?"

"I'm fine," she protested, resisting his efforts to get her to stand and return to the bed. "I do not wish to be a further burden to you, nor do I wish to allow my life to be dictated by past events." _What on earth does that mean?_ he wondered, continuing to try and get her to move to the bed. She was having none of it, and informed him, again, that she was fine. "It was very momentary, it has already passed, and I do _not_ need to go back to bed. What I do need, however, are some new clothes- like the ones I had before. I refuse to go about dressed in this fashion. It is neither comfortable nor practical, so I will ask that you return my old clothes to me, or else find me new ones similar to those which were taken from me!" A small voice in the back of her head whispered that arguing with a man she was trying to convince of her sincerity was not the brightest idea. _Especially since the man in question happens to be the king of Gondor,_ the voice insisted. She resolutely ignored it-

-and was startled when said king, despite her grip on the chair, picked her bodily up from it, carried her to the bed, and set her down before she could form a protest. Polara glared up at him and attempted to rise from her prone position, ready to resume the argument, and was stopped by a firm grip on her shoulders. There was something definitely odd in Aragorn's face when he looked down at her, almost as though….no. No, he _couldn't_ be laughing at he? But when he spoke, there was a definite hint of suppressed mirth in his voice, and he looked as though he was trying very, very hard to be stern and forceful…and not quite succeeding.

"I see that you have a stubborn streak in you…very well. I propose a truce to this matter- you will stay in bed the rest of today and I will find you some new clothes. Does that suit you?" Aragorn was having a difficult time controlling his amusement. She was stubborn…that was an understatement. The bruises and welts she had sustained had to be making themselves felt, and he had noted the slight tremor in her limbs…no doubt from fatigue and suppressed pain…and yet she was still insisting that she needed neither rest nor further care. And she managed to argue with him about his own safety! She certainly had spirit. And he was finding his orders ignored, by a young woman whose parents had likely been babes when he himself was of age and commanding men….the urge to laugh doubled, and suddenly he had to let it out.

Turning, Aragorn, fled the room, pulling the door closed behind him and sinking to the floor in a helpless fit of laughter. He wasn't even sure about exactly _what_ was funny…but for some reason, he had to laugh. And laugh he did, until he was exhausted. And then, sitting on the floor in the corridor, he sobered. The tension, the unbearable _not knowing_ was over. He knew who, and where, and perhaps even part of the why. Polara could tell him how to find this place. He would go alone…and he would get her back. Arwen. His Arwen, his heart, his love… He leaned his head back against the cool stone wall and closed his eyes. _I'm coming for you, _he whispered in his mind, hoping that somehow she would know.

Polara remained on the bed where he had put her, staring at the closed door, first in bewilderment, then in relief as the sound of laughter reached her, even through the thick wooden door. She smiled slightly, the absurdity of the situation amusing her as well. Well, he knew she could hold her own now. She had shown that she wasn't to be pushed about. She let out a long, shaky breath. It had been harder than she'd even thought, standing up to him. The past….she had no wish to let it control her, but it was difficult to forget. She'd been terrified the entire time… And now, gods, she was so tired…maybe he'd been right after all, she thought, closing her eyes. Maybe she did need rest. Her last thought before sleep took her was a fervent wish that the dreams would not come to haunt her.


End file.
